


With Kink in Mind, Part 5: Springtime Wrap Up

by TuppingLiberty



Series: With Love in Mind [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Asexuality, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gags, Kink Negotiation, Kink Scene, Kinktober, Lap Sex, Lapdance, M/M, Massage, Past Abuse, Riding, Safe Sane and Consensual, Seattle, Stockings, Subspace, Sugar Daddy-Esque, graysexual character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-28 06:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Sequel to With Love in MindGraeme and Alan finish out their kink challenge - what better than a birthday bash to really put the cherry on top?Written for Kinktober, publishing hopefully before the end of November!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Again, posting this one as I go. I hoped to have more than the prologue done to post, but I just felt like I needed to post *something* after you left such nice comments on the last chapter. Thank you all so much. <3 <3 <3
> 
> I realized, too, that I've written over 80k so far for this kinktober challenge, which is awesome and amazing that you're all sticking with it! I feel like I won nano!

_ “I’m going to marry you.”  _

Alan’s words float through his subconscious as he wakes up, the day after his dental work. Was that a dream, or…? Graeme frowns, trying to remember what prompted Alan’s words, if anything. If they were real. But nothing comes to mind. 

At some point in the night, Alan must have carried Graeme to bed, and then gotten dressed. He  _ does _ remember that, the silly striptease that had Graeme falling even more in love with him, if that’s even possible. Anyway, Alan’s clothed now, sadly, wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Graeme’s all tangled up in his limbs, just how he likes to wake up. How he likes to sleep. How he likes to spend as much of his time as possible, these days, wrapped up in the warm bear hug that is Alan’s embrace. 

Graeme rubs his nose against Alan’s chest hair, sighing happily. His teeth hurt vaguely, but he’s used to that, and now he has hope that they’ll stop hurting eventually. Funny how much of his anxiety had centered around his teeth. It feels weird to have it at least partially alleviated. 

He feels a kiss press into his hair, and he looks up to Alan’s tired, happy face. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” Graeme leans up, brushing a kiss over Alan’s lips, morning breath be damned. “Love you.” 

“Love you,” Alan rumbles back. He nuzzles his beard against Graeme’s cheek, pulling him a little closer, hugging him a little tighter. “How are you feeling?”

“I could use an ibuprofen, but I’m okay. Thanks for taking care of me yesterday. I know I was pretty ridiculous.” 

“Are you kidding? You’re an adorable patient,  _ and _ I get to lord over you your food choices for the rest of eternity.” 

Graeme feels his cheeks pinken. “Oh my god, no one was supposed to know about my flake potatoes.” 

“Eh, we all have our shit we like. For me, it’s Peeps. Absolutely disgusting, but I can’t help it.” Alan kisses his nose. “Do you remember calling me ‘the mashed potatoes of people’?”

Graeme’s fingers clench into Alan’s bicep. “What? No. I did not.” 

“Well, I don’t think you meant it as a bad thing.” 

Alan laughs when Graeme thunks his forehead against Alan’s shoulder. “I mean, it’s not, necessarily, but that’s still embarrassing.” 

“I’m thinking of getting it tattooed, actually. Maybe on my forearm. Just ‘You’re the mashed potatoes of people’ in a pretty scroll. Maybe with one of those potato mashers.” 

“You are  _ not.” _

“Or I could get, like, just a little mound of mashed potatoes as a tramp stamp.” 

Graeme pushes at Alan’s arm, making him fall onto his back. He slips his leg over and straddles Alan, holding him in place. “You’re doing no such thing.” 

“In French it’s a compliment to be called someone’s little cabbage. This isn’t that different, yeah?” 

Graeme retaliates by pinching at Alan’s side. “You’re the worst.” 

Alan snorts, drawing Graeme down into his arms again. “And you feel good like this.” His fingers skim over Graeme’s back, and down to cup his ass. Graeme lets his head fall to Alan’s bare chest, his hair scratchy against Graeme’s cheek. They breathe together like that for a moment, still in that languid waking-up mode. 

“You said something yesterday too, I think,” Graeme murmurs, before propping his chin on Alan’s chest to look at his face. “Something about-” Graeme pauses, chewing on his lip, as Alan looks politely curious. “If you asked, I’d- I’d say yes.”

Realization replaces curiosity on Alan’s face, and then a frown of concern. His thumb runs over Graeme’s cheek. “What if- what if I’m afraid to ask because I’m worried you’ll regret this down the road? Marrying someone ten years older than you.” 

Graeme turns his head, kissing Alan’s palm, before snuggling closer to him. “One could make the argument that because of the shit I’ve seen, I’ve got the same amount, if not more, of life experience you do, and that levels the playing field.” 

He rolls them to the side, really wanting to be able to have this conversation eye-to-eye with Alan. “I’ve been trying to find my place to settle down in for as long as I can remember. I’m- I’m not going to sow wild oats. Wild oats were sown  _ for _ me when I was a kid, and I didn’t have a fucking choice about it. This... _ you _ would be  _ my _ choice. And fuck everything else.” 

Alan’s hand slips behind his head, and then he’s crushing their lips together in a fierce, possessive kiss. “Noted,” he whispers, a little breathless. 

Graeme lets them breathe together again for a few beats. “But, if you’re worried…” His fingers slip up to his collar, warm from his skin, “I consider this a sign of commitment. Like a promise ring. And we can use it like that for as long as it takes. A sign of my love and devotion to you. That’s not so different than a wedding band, right?” 

Alan thumbs over the collar, too, his eyes warm. “You sure?” 

“Absolutely.” Graeme leans in, sealing the declaration with a kiss. 

He puts up no protest when Alan moves him to his back and starts undoing him, piece by piece, kiss by kiss.


	2. Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget Webster returns, and brings with her a slew of content warnings. 
> 
> CW: Homophobic language (f slur), abusive language, references to past abuse, mostly emotional but possibly physical, reference to Graeme's dad's suicide

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Early March/October 29

| 

~~Glory hole~~ | Double (Or more) Penetration | **Sleepy Sex | Massage**

| 

_István told me he’s taken two cocks at once and I just can’t even imagine. But also like...fuck, that’s hot. I just can’t imagine being able to sit for like, a week, after. — G_

  


_Well, I have to say, I’ve never had any experience with it, giving or receiving. It does seem like it’d be uncomfortable. But I can reach out to Clark if you want to try something? — A_

  


_Let’s table it for now. For the future. — G_

  


_I mean, we do know I’m very good at massage. ;) — A_

  


_Massages do make me sleepy… :D — G_  
  
“Graeme.”

Graeme turns, smile on his face, assuming one of the other regular customers he chats with at the corner coffee shop is greeting him. Instead, a cold sweat washes over him, and he drops his to-go chai latte, spilling it everywhere as his heart starts to beat a million times a minute. Because, yeah, that’s fucking Bridget Webster, smiling back at him in that sickly-sweet way of hers.

To save face, to give himself a distraction, he immediately turns and grabs a handful of napkins to start mopping up his spilled drink. It splashed all over his shoes, which are luckily his water-proof, slip-proof super-comfy kitchen shoes, and the bottom of his jeans. He’ll have to wash them. Will it stain? He really likes this pair, they’re the perfect stage of worn comfort for working in the kitchen all day. _Really, mind? That’s what you’re concerned about?_

A barista with a mop takes over, and he can’t avoid standing now, and staring at the woman who gave birth to him. And then pretty much stopped caring about him after that, as far as he can tell. The woman he hasn’t seen since he was 18 and kicked out of the trailer with three months left to go until he graduated high school.

“What are you doing here?”

Bridget pulls out a pack of cigarettes and starts to take one out.

“You can’t do that in here,” Graeme immediately chides, his face flaming. He thought he could escape this, escape her, but now everyone knows. It feels like the entire cafe is staring at him, and he’s definitely trying to spiral because it’s starting to feel like he’s not even really in his body. Shaky, he pushes past her, escape from the stares of everyone in the coffee shop the first thing on his mind. He pulls out his phone, not caring if it seems rude, and sends out a quick text to Alan.

 **Graeme:** 911\. My mom. Outside coffee shop. Please come

She follows him, of course. “I’m not an idiot,” she grumbles, lighting up when they’re out on the sidewalk. “I swear they’ve never heard of freedom in this city.”

“Maybe people just don’t want their kids exposed to that shit.” He grimaces as the smoke inevitably wafts his direction. A million scent memories try to push into his brain, only fueling his freak out.

The ground is starting to feel very far away, and he can’t keep up with his heart. He pauses at the side of the building, steadying himself by leaning against it. “I thought Alan told you to stay away until I decided to contact you.”

Bridget gives a little shrug, taking a long drag and fucking— of course fucking blowing the smoke in his direction. His eyes sting. Probably psychosomatic, he tells himself.

“You mean your John? Or does he whore you out? Is pimp better?” Bridget spits on the sidewalk, making Graeme flinch. “I got tired of waiting.”

“It’s been a year. More than.”

She shrugs again, which Graeme interprets as ‘I forgot about it/you for awhile and something came up recently that reminded me that I should try and care about you.’ Because that’s how Bridget always was. Is. Caring about Graeme when it’s convenient to her schedule.

“Almost your birthday,” she replies, and Graeme knows he’s right, then, about his interpretation.

“You missed the last few.”

_Shrug._

“What do you want?”

“Listen, Graeme-cracker—” The nickname makes Graeme want to throw up, especially since Bridget’s voice has turned conciliatory — “You’ve gotten yourself into a good situation here. Long term, from what I can tell. At least until he gets tired of putting up with your neediness. All I want is what I’m owed, for caring for you for 18 years. Not easy getting pregnant at 16 but I kept you, you know? And look at all the trouble you’ve given me.”

Same old, same old then, as far as Bridget Webster is concerned. _She has a one-track goddamned mind,_ he thinks. _I’d be surprised if she didn’t actually keep track of every diaper and package of ramen and Goodwill shirt she bought me._

“You need money.”

“Can always use money.” Another fucking shrug that makes Graeme want to scream.

“And if I give you some now, you’ll just need more later. If you give a mouse a cookie.”

She blows smoke at him again, and he has half a mind to snatch the cigarette from her fucking hand and throw it on the ground. He feels some of his anxiety convert to anger.

“You owe me. I took care of you. Fed you. Gave you shelter. You ruined my fucking body coming out. Probably why your dad offed himself. You _owe_ me.”

Every word is a spike against his defenses, and he struggles to maintain them, maintain some semblance of control. His old instincts kick in. _Give her what she wants and she’ll back off._  “I don’t have—” he starts, intending to tell her he doesn't have cash on him, but can use the ATM card to get some. To get her away as quickly as possible.

Misunderstanding him, she cuts him off. “Don’t give me that shit. You’re whoring yourself out for the richest fag in Seattle, you _have plenty.”_

Graeme’s cheeks are flaming, but true to city life, everyone is just passing around them, minding their own business. Hell, three quarters of the people passing by have earbuds in. “I’m not a whore.”

“Are you fucking him? Is he paying for all of this shit?” Bridget’s cigarette sweeps over his rather functional fluffy Columbia jacket and jeans. He involuntarily takes a step back, not wanting to come within touching distance of the lit end. She just raises her eyebrow. He can tell how pissed she is just from the curve of that brow. This level of anger means she won't be holding back.

“I’m not a whore. He loves me.” Graeme instantly regrets the words. Saying it to his mother makes their love seem _tainted,_ somehow.

Bridget scoffs. “He loves that you’re young and your body isn’t wrecked yet. Who could actually _love_ you? So fucking needy, all the time, and always ‘anxious’ because you don’t want to do your share of the work. Just like your dad. Fucking losers.”

Graeme reaches out, gripping the side of the building to keep steady. And then he pushes away, the barbs in his heart converting to anger. “Try harder. Really fucking try, Bridget.”

Bridget straightens. “I can still fucking take you, Graeme. _You_ try it.”

Anxiety and anger roil in his stomach. He breathes through his nose, trying not to throw up. He has to break eye contact, and he knows he’s crying, though it’s mostly in frustration. “I did try. I tried to get you to love me. I _tried.”_

“Didn’t do a very good job, huh? Would have been easier if you hadn’t been fucked up and so _needy._ Do you know how much money I spent trying to fix you? And you’re still broken. You owe me.”

And then Graeme just — just _can’t,_ anymore. “How much? When will it stop? What will it take to make you go away?” She opens her mouth to answer, but Graeme cuts her off. “I don’t think anything. I think you’ll keep coming back, trying to suck me dry, because all you can see in me is what you failed to get for yourself. I fought for this. I fought for my life. I fought against every obstacle you tried to throw at me. I fight, continually, for Alan and for my job and for this life. And I’m done fighting you. I’ll contact you if or when I want to talk to you ever again. If you contact me before that, I’m getting a restraining order. You have no right to my fucking life, ever, got it? I owe you _nothing.”_

He jumps when he feels a hand on his arm, but recognizes Alan’s fingers as they slide between his. Alan’s slightly behind him, still, letting him face his mom, providing backup. He doesn’t have to say anything for Graeme to feel his support.

Bridget’s eyes glare over his shoulder at Alan. “Needed your John to come protect you?” She flicks the cigarette to Graeme’s feet, where it lay, still wafting smoke up toward him.

“I’m not a whore, and I’m done with this today. I hope that someday, you understand that I don’t owe you anything, and the only thing you’re going to wring from me, maybe, is my time. Not money, sure as hell not my forgiveness. Until you can convince me you’re worth any more of my time, I’m done with you.”

He turns, leading Alan away and back towards their apartment building. He glances back, once, but Bridget’s already gone. Like some malevolent ghost fading back into the woodwork, ready to plague him again when he least expects it.

 _“Fuck.”_ He pauses, everything that had bolstered him converting back to anxiety. He’s started shaking, or maybe he never stopped when he got angry, and he can’t hold back the sob. That’s what he allows himself, here on the street. One, solitary, broken sob.

“Fuck, Alan, it’s never going to stop. I’m never going to be safe. I can’t—” His breath is coming too quickly, his heart beating too rapidly, succumbing to the panic again.

“Breathe with me.” Alan wraps him in his coat, and counts out his breaths deliberately. It’s hard, so hard to match them, but after a few minutes — maybe more, Graeme’s not sure — he does.

“Let’s go home. Take the day off. Do you want me to talk to Reene?”

“I can,” Graeme whispers, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. He pulls out his phone to deal with it.

It’s when they’re in the enclosed space of the elevator that he smells it, the lingering sweet smell of nicotine and tobacco. Bile rises in his throat, and he has to deep breathe through his mouth to keep from smelling it and throwing up. He strips immediately upon entering the apartment. “I have to take a shower. I have to get clean,” he mumbles, as he leaves a trail of clothes behind him.

He’s scrubbing soap over his skin when Alan, naked, appears at the glass door of the shower. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah. I just— I could still smell her. I had to— I just. I hate cigarette smoke so much.”

Alan pumps some of their shampoo into his hand, and then begins to work up suds in Graeme’s hair. He massages Graeme’s scalp, which feels amazing. “I’m really proud of you for dealing with her,” he murmurs.

“It’s never going to stop.” Graeme breaks a little, his eyes tearing up.

Alan continues to care for him, scooping warm water over his hair and washing the shampoo out, rubbing body wash over his skin until it feels soft and delicate. Letting him get his emotions out. “We’ll follow through on your threat if need be. If she doesn’t stop. But you stopped it today. You stopped her. You’re so strong.” He nuzzles against Graeme’s cheek. “I’m so proud to be your boyfriend. You did such hard work. What do you need, today? We could call Clarissa. Movie marathon. I could take you under, if you want. Take care of you. Let you relax.”

Graeme wraps his arms around Alan, tears still coming. His emotions feel everywhere, like jagged pieces of glass poking out with intent to harm. “I want— I want you to take me under.”

Alan’s finger runs over his cheek. “I can do that, baby boy. You deserve all of this, okay? Someone to love on you. Show you comfort and care. You deserve everything.” He brings Graeme in for one last sweet kiss. “Do you feel clean now?”

Graeme sniffs, but is unable to detect any smell of smoke. He nods, and Alan reaches around to shut off the water. As they get out, Graeme realizes that Alan must have already taken care of his smoky clothes, because there’s no lingering smell in the apartment, and no clothes left on the ground. He pauses Alan’s hands as they dry him off with a towel, taking them and looking up into his eyes. “I really love you, okay?”

“I really love you too, baby.” He fluffs Graeme’s hair, which makes him smile.

With Alan’s hands on him, it’s easier to forget the creeping, anxious feeling he had at the sight of his mother. When he’s dry, he leans forward, resting his head against Alan’s chest, letting his cheek rub against the curls of hair. Alan’s arms sweep around and pick him up easily, bringing Graeme’s legs around his hips.

“Let’s see,” Alan murmurs as he walks them toward the bedroom. “I’m thinking a gag, and some bondage, and maybe that massage that’s waiting for us on the kinktober queue. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect,” Graeme whispers, pressing a kiss to Alan’s collar bone. In the moment between bathroom and bed, Graeme takes a breath, centers himself, and pushes thoughts of his mom away for now.

Alan sets him down gently, then turns and pulls a pair of lounge pants on for himself. They look ridiculously sexy, riding low and clinging tightly to that perfect ass that Graeme loves so much. When Alan turns back from the toy chest, supplies in hand, he softens at the loving look Graeme must be giving him.

They run through the signals, more quickly now that they know each other so well. Graeme always tries not to rush through it, but after being triggered by play last fall, he understands the importance. He absolutely trusts that Alan will stop if Graeme needs to stop, but he also absolutely loves the feeling of safety that comes from discussing the particulars with his Dom.

Alan soothes him, warms him up, with slow, drugging kisses. Any thought that’s not about the wonderful man before him quickly slips from Graeme’s head. The aftermath of the anxiety attack has left Graeme feeling sleepy, malleable. He doesn’t protest at all when Alan moves the gag between his lips. It’s not a ball gag, but a cock gag, the piece not large enough to trigger Graeme’s gag reflex or breath issues, but weighty enough that it feels like Alan’s cock in his mouth. It’s the best facsimile they’ve found for cock warming without involving Alan’s dick, when he doesn’t want it involved.

Sure enough, as the silicone in his mouth starts to become warm and wet, Graeme finds himself immediately slipping into subspace, imagining his Daddy’s cock. He barely feels Alan clip the gag straps into place at the back of his head as he runs his tongue over the ridges of the fake cock.

He feels Alan manipulate his body, move him onto his back and spread his legs apart. He kind of really wants to be fucked, and the thought flits through his head for a moment that they should set up another couples night with Clark and István, so he can get spit roasted between the two of them as Alan watches, petting his hair and telling him what a good boy he is. The thought makes him moan around the gag. Alan shushes him soothingly, petting over his stomach.

He waits patiently as Daddy trusses him up, his legs folded so his heels are against his ass, bound that way so he’s completely open and exposed. He lets his eyes flutter open, watches Alan with a half-lidded gaze.

He’s so fucking floaty, is the thing. His mind is apparently susceptible to it after the panic, because he’s so deep and floaty and feels so fucking good as Alan slips two lubed fingers inside him and crooks to find his prostate. He’s drooling around the gag, and his cock is leaking precum, and he feels dirty and exposed and beautiful and perfect.

“What about a prostate massage instead, hmm? See how much cum I can get you to spill.” Alan’s words are quiet, and Graeme half-thinks they weren’t meant for him anyway. He tongues over the cock in his mouth and lets his eyes close again. Daddy will take care of him.

There’s a wet press on his stomach, and it takes Graeme a few moments to place that Alan is licking the precum off of his skin as he continues to push against his prostate. It’s tortuous and amazing, and Graeme whimpers around the dildo.

He’s not sure how long Alan keeps him like that, with the constant press-press-press that makes his cock weep. He’s not even sure if he ever comes, because at some point it just feels so fucking good that one euphoric wave is blending in with the other. He’s a mess, with the drool and the cum and he’s fairly sure he started crying at some point.

It’s when Alan is obviously transitioning into aftercare, taking the gag off first, then untying his legs and rubbing over the marks, massaging and stretching sore muscles in his calves and thighs, that something breaks inside Graeme.

He starts shaking uncontrollably again, and he’s still crying, and everything seems to be crashing as he says Alan’s name over and over frantically—

“Shhhh, shhh, baby, I’ve got you, it’s going to be okay. You’re safe. You’re here and you’re safe and you’re so, so loved, my sweet baby.” Alan’s gentle, like Graeme is made of sugar glass. “Let it out.”

Alan’s cradling him against his chest, wrapping Graeme’s favorite blanket up around them, and rocking just a little. Graeme can’t help but keep bawling into Alan’s chest, as Alan slowly strokes through his hair and keeps repeating all of his reassurances.

At last, eventually, Graeme’s sobs quiet as he runs dry of emotions. Alan presses a cool cloth to his face, which was probably all nice and warm when he’d first prepared it for aftercare. It still feels good against Graeme’s swollen eyes.

“She has no bearing on who or what you are, baby. What you said to her — God, I was so proud of you. You said everything exactly right. You owe her nothing. You’ve made yourself. You’ve worked so hard. You would have survived, even without my help. You owe _me_ nothing, okay, baby? I love you so much.”

Focusing back in on Alan’s monologue helps him ground himself. He wraps his arms around Alan’s neck and holds him closely. “Thank you,” he just keeps whispering over and over.

He’s sure that the fresh wounds from his mother aren't healed. _Whore_ and _fag_ are going to haunt him for awhile — perhaps forever, but it would be so like Bridget Webster to completely burn her bridges and then blame it on the match that lit them up and not herself.

So no, he’s not healed. Everything is still raw, and will be, for awhile.

But they’re not going to scar, and that’s what’s important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, okay, that was rough, but Graeme needed to do it. I hope it wasn't too much angst for the story.


	3. Day 30: Stockings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme plans a special surprise for Alan with the help of some friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs nervously* Hehe what was that about posting in November? 
> 
> Sorry guys, I lost the last, like, three weeks to grad school and full time job and travel for family stuff and choir and and and.... Anyway, have some springtime in December!

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Mid-March/October 30

| 

Gagging | **Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose** | ~~Breast Worship~~ | Swallowing

| 

_We can wait a little bit if you want, baby — A_

  


_We’ll see. — G_  
  
“Anything today?” 

“No, Mr. Garry, sir. She hasn’t approached the building again.” 

Alan nods at Abel, the regular day doorman for their apartment building. The answer had been the same every day since Bridget had accosted Graeme last week, after a quick look at security footage had shown her hanging out at their apartment and establishing Graeme’s schedule. 

She hasn’t been back, but just like Graeme, Alan doesn’t think she’ll be gone forever. At least now building security is aware of her description, he thinks, as he enters the elevator. 

 

When Alan opens the door, he’s greeted by the sight of Graeme snuggled up between Krista and István on the couch. They’re all bundled up under a blanket, a bowl of popcorn on Graeme’s lap being shared between the three of them, and something with lots of explosions is playing on the TV. Graeme’s head is resting on Krista’s shoulder, her fingers sliding through his hair mechanically, and István’s fingers are tangled in his near the popcorn bowl. The cats are sleeping on top of the blanket, too, and the whole scene looks so comfy, a warm glow starts to beat in Alan’s heart, replacing whatever anxiety he’d felt thinking about Bridget Webster.

That warm glow intensifies when Graeme glances over and meets his eyes. They’re soft, and happy, and definitely not stressed, and he’s so glad he was able to convince Krista and István to come over as reinforcements while he had to go take care of work. 

Graeme’s had a rough few days, recovering from Bridget’s attack — Alan refuses to think of it as anything less — as well as finals. Thankfully, the tests are over for the quarter, but Alan hadn’t wanted Graeme to be completely alone his first full day of spring vacation. 

“Hey Ally,” Graeme murmurs, looking content.  

“How’s the movie marathon?” Alan leans over the back of the couch to kiss Graeme, who laughs when Krista cheats her cheek out and taps it. He obliges, kissing first Krista, and then István on the cheeks, and then back to Graeme for a more thorough kiss.

“Can you believe Graeme has never seen the Terminator movies?” István asks as Alan settles into one of the arm chairs. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re providing a solid education for him, then.” 

“That they are. Now shush.” Graeme gives him a wink before turning his attention back to the TV. 

Alan laughs, blowing Graeme a kiss, which he returns. He rests in the chair, and settles into watching the movie and petting Threepio, who graciously left the Blanket of Warmth to keep him company. 

As the movie winds down, there’s quite a bit of whispering, giggling, squirming and chatter going on over at the couch. And it looks, at least to Alan, like Graeme is the center of attention, his cheeks flushed the cutest pink that makes Alan want to carry him back to his bed and rim him for hours. He manages to push that thought away, but just barely. 

It looks like Krista and István are trying to encourage Graeme to do something, and when Graeme picks up the remote as the credits roll and turns the TV off, Alan gives him his full attention. 

It’s István, though, who speaks next. “Do you have something you want to show your Daddy?”

Graeme’s cheeks are bright red flames as Krista grins. “He has such a surprise for you. We didn't exactly do the movie marathon thing all day. We did a little shopping, too.” 

“Oh?” The embarrassed yet pleased look on Graeme’s face is doing all sorts of things to Alan’s dick. Namely, all sorts of getting-hard things. 

“I wanted to give you a nice surprise because you’ve been taking such good care of me lately. Krista and István helped me pick it out. And now, they’re leaving.” Graeme grins, looking happier than he has in days at pulling off this apparent surprise. He pulls Krista and István in for cheek-kisses himself, then shoos them off the couch. “Don’t forget the meals I packed for you in the fridge.” 

Alan knows he’s being rude, not attending to their guests, especially when they helped him and Graeme out so much today. But if he stands, he’s going to have a rather unfortunate tenting problem — he’d just thrown on sweats to head into the office today, feeling rather lazy leaving Graeme’s warmth this morning. And Graeme is giving him a small, sly smile that tells Alan the whole innocent blushing thing was just an act earlier. 

That tells Alan Graeme has something planned, and Alan better buckle in. 

He barely gets out a “Goodbye” as Krista and István let themselves out of the apartment. And then it’s just Alan in the armchair, his sweaty hands rubbing over his sweatpants, and Graeme on the couch, bundled up in the blanket. 

“Color, Daddy?” 

Alan lets his lips slip up. He’s so fucking proud of the way Graeme has bounced back. “Green, baby boy. What did you want to show me?” 

Graeme pushes up from the couch, letting the blanket fall to the floor, and the breath Alan had been holding whooshes out. 

He’s wearing a pair of black fishnets with wide holes, that cling to every defined calf and thigh muscle. Alan can tell he’s shaved his legs again, all the way up, and Alan wants to grab and feel and take. The fishnets disappear under a pair of red spandex booty shorts, hugging his obvious erection and that perfect ass. His exposed stomach is an expanse of smooth, pale skin, up to the purple crop top that hangs down loosely. Alan trails his eyes, letting himself linger, letting Graeme see his appreciation, moving up until he lands on Graeme’s expectant face. 

“You look like you’re ready to go dancing, baby boy.” 

Graeme bites into his lip coquettishly, and holds out his hands to help pull Alan up. When they’re standing, chest to chest, Graeme lets his body roll against Alan’s. “I don’t want to  _ go _ dancing, I just want to stay here, and dance for you.” 

He presses on Alan’s chest, walking him backwards and forcing him down into one of the kitchen chairs. “I think I owe you a lapdance. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Alan automatically corrects, trying not to frown. “You never owe me anything.”  

Graeme’s eyes soften, and he leans over to kiss Alan’s forehead. “You’re right, I don’t. It’s going to take me a bit to get that word out of my language, though. But thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome. I’d love a lap dance.” 

The smile is back on Graeme’s lips. He turns something low and sensual on on his phone, and tosses it on the counter before centering his attention back on Alan. His hips are moving, swaying hypnotically. When Alan reaches out to squeeze one, though, Graeme playfully slaps his hand away. 

“No touching, Daddy.” 

Alan grunts — or maybe whimpers — letting his hands fall back down to gripping his own thighs as Graeme writhes above him. He watches Graeme’s stomach rise, fall, contract with movement and breath, and he wants to run his mouth over every inch of exposed skin. His own heart is beating wildly, so irrevocably turned on, so quickly, it makes his head spin a little. Maybe this is what it was like to be a normal horny teenager. 

Graeme shimmies out of the skin-tight shorts, flicking them away with a kick of his foot, then moves into a straddle on Alan’s lap. He rolls his hips, the fishnet stockings tight around his waist and enveloping his hard cock, even as he starts to work on Alan’s zipper.

“I thought no touching?” 

“No touching for  _ you.” _  He finally frees Alan’s cock, making Alan groan when he gives it three rough strokes, spreading pre-cum over it. “I get to touch Daddy all I want.” 

He leans forward, kissing under Alan’s ear, then biting his earlobe and making Alan shiver with need. Alan’s head is still spinning, every sense full of, surrounded by, engulfed in  _ Graeme. _ His Graeme, who fought off his mother and lived to tell the tale, who has the most generous heart and the best smile and the quickest brain. Who he loves, body and soul. Who he would happily give everything over to, knowing Graeme would never abuse the privilege. 

His Graeme looks at him with soft eyes, eyes full of love and lust. The kiss they share reflects the headiness of the moment, Graeme melting in his arms. 

Finally, Graeme brings Alan’s hands up to his hips, moving them back, over his fishnet-covered ass, to his hole. Alan’s eyes widen in surprise as they graze over the base of the plug holding Graeme open. 

“I’m all ready for you, Daddy.” 

“Yes, you are. Can I touch now?” 

Graeme nods, sucking under Alan’s ear again. “Don’t just touch,” he breaths out. “Tear.” 

It takes Alan a second to translate what Graeme means, and then his fingers are digging into the fishnets and tearing them apart, right where Graeme’s hole is. He rips them just enough for him to be able to work the plug in and out, making Graeme moan as the widest section catches again and again on his rim. 

“I need to get—” Alan cuts off when Graeme pulls a lube packet from the little pocket of his crop top, the one resting directly over his heart. The grin he gives Alan is full of moxie and devastatingly beautiful. “Sure you weren’t ever a Boy Scout?” 

“Those homophobic jerks? No thanks.” He tears at the packet with his teeth and uses it to lube Alan’s cock thoroughly. He kneels, pressing to line himself up. “Color?” 

Helplessly in love, Alan pushes a hand in Graeme’s hair. Their eyes meet, and Alan pulls him down for a slow, more thorough kiss. “Green,” he whispers back.  _ I love you. _

They both groan as Graeme slides down Alan’s cock, slowly but surely bottoming out. He feels extra tight in this position, one of Alan’s favorites because he likes to wrap his arms around Graeme and watch him take his pleasure. Likes to watch Graeme get off on his dick. It makes it less about Alan’s dick, which might not be performing — and more about Graeme’s pleasure, which  _ never _ fails to get Alan off, if even just metaphorically. 

Graeme’s teeth are sunk into his lower lip as he slowly rolls his hips, using Alan’s cock against his prostate repeatedly. He’s shivering in Alan’s lap, his eyes shut in ecstasy, small whimpers coming from deep in his throat. 

Alan hooks his fingers in the fishnets and helps Graeme ride. He seeks out Graeme’s lips, wants those teeth sinking into him, not keeping them to himself. Graeme obliges, kissing him through the fucking, letting Alan drown his moans and keep them connected at another junction. 

When Graeme comes, it’s with a broken shout against Alan’s lips. The cum slides through the holes of the fishnets, wetting Alan’s shirt. He clenches down around Alan’s cock with enough intent that Alan sees stars, his orgasm punching him in the gut. 

Graeme pants against his chest, their heartbeats knocking together as they both come down. Alan can’t stop petting over Graeme’s back, and pressing kisses to Graeme’s sweaty forehead. 

“I love you,” Graeme whispers. 

“Thanks for the surprise.” Alan grins, tipping up Graeme’s chin for a better kiss. “Shower?”

“Mmm. Shower. Glad you liked it.” 

“I will always enjoy your surprises.” 

“Be careful giving me that much lead.”

“I’m not worried at all,” Alan replies with confidence. He gets them to their feet, then swings Graeme into his arms. “How about you? Worried for your big 2-2 and what I have planned for your birthday?” 

Graeme’s eyes fill with warmth and mirth. “As long as it involves orgasms I think I’m good.” 

“Oh,  _ orgasms?  _ Shit. I thought you wanted to play parcheesi.” 

Graeme snorts, wrapping his arms around Alan’s neck and rubbing his cheek against Alan’s beard. "I don't know what that is, but it better be code for orgasms."   



	4. 31 - combo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they celebrate Graeme's birthday once again, the kinktober experiment comes to a close with what else? A foursome.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
March 21 — _My birthday!!!! — G_ / October 31

| 

Any combination of the above!

| 

_This one’s all mine. Let’s just say it’s a little bit of Graeme’s greatest hits for Graeme’s 22nd birthday. — A_  
  
Graeme surges to his feet. “No! No! Penalty, you asshole!”

A slight pause, and then two seconds later, the crowd behind him agrees with him. It makes Graeme snort through his frustration at the hockey going on in front of them, because the crowd behind him just happens to be full of his friends, his non-hockey-loving but Graeme-loving friends.

István is the only one standing with him, a beer in his hand, yelling in Hungarian at the ref. The fact that he’s wearing heeled boots, a bright blue jersey, and eye makeup that matches the Thunderbirds colors only makes the sight more perfect. Graeme holds up his own water and mimics István’s words, which makes István laugh and clink their plastic cups together. Graeme is sure that Clark and Alan are rolling their eyes at them behind their backs.

Alan has managed to pull together quite a crowd to celebrate Graeme’s birthday at the hockey game. They’re taking up several rows, even. Hendrick and Ceci, Sam, Rick and the kids, Alan’s parents, Reene and some of Graeme’s friends from school, Krista and her latest date. They make a boisterous section, although István is the real revelation. Apparently he used to play peewee hockey back in Hungary, but dropped it here in the States because of cost. Graeme is fairly sure he has him convinced to join his beer league though.

They’re quite possibly the loudest section in the stadium, and they keep getting weird glances, but Graeme does not give even a single fuck. He’s 22, and he’s here with his friends, and he happens to know that after the game, two said friends are going to be coming home with them for some play time.

A Thunderbirds player executes a beautiful spinorama to pass to the forward, who wings the puck in past the goalie to bring the Thunderbirds ahead as Graeme and István scream their heads off.

Alan pushes up to his feet beside him, sweeping him up in a kiss as the buzzer sounds the end of the game. There’s loud cheering all around the rink, and Graeme can’t help feeling like it’s all for him on his birthday.

It takes some time to make sure everyone’s safely packed away in Lyfts or their own cars, depending on their current state, and then the four of them are packed into their own Lyft, heading back to the apartment. With a wink, Alan takes the front seat and leaves Clark, István, and Graeme to the back. Clark and István seat Graeme in between them, and the ride home is filled with teasing touches that the driver can’t catch. His little exhibitionist heart is beating wildly by the time they make it to the apartment building.

István helps pull him out of the car, and links arms with him as they walk inside. “So, Graeme, darling, what was your favorite part of your birthday?”

“I don’t know,” he says, without care, because he doesn’t, is the thing, and if he starts to think about how wonderful Alan has made this day, he might start crying and ruin the mood. “It might be coming yet, right?’

“Someone will be coming yet,” István promises, laughing at his own ridiculousness.

In the elevator, which is blessedly empty besides the four of them, they take turns kissing Graeme until he’s a writhing mess against the mirrored wall. Alan is last, the familiarity of him a comfort that quells some of the wild beating of his heart.

His lips linger on Graeme’s, their eyes locked. “I love you, baby boy. Happy birthday.”

So maybe he is going to cry, then. He pulls Alan closer, kissing him again, slipping somehow deeper in love.

“What’s the game plan? Wait, I don’t want to know,” he whispers.

Clark laughs, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “You know we’re going to color check the hell out of you anyway.”

They get, somehow, from the elevator and into the apartment without any of the neighbors catching them as they kiss each other — all four of them. He’s wrapped up in István’s arms, kissing those plump, fuckable lips as they stumble inside. Clark runs his hand over István’s neck, stilling their kiss and making István tremble.

“He has my permission, for tonight, for your birthday, to Dom you. If _you_ want.” Clark’s not looking to Graeme for confirmation, but Alan.

István’s eyes, too, slide to Alan’s. “Is anyone allowed to fuck him?”

Alan grins, his hand coming around Graeme’s waist. Graeme is so irrevocably turned on by the conversation happening around him, not including him. He knows they’ll all respect his safe words. “He’s talked about double penetration before. Do you have any experience with that, Isti?”

István snorts. “Receiving, yeah. Graeme’s such a good boy, though, I bet we could try it out. How big have you opened him up before? Is he used to it?”

As they talk about what they’re going to do to him, they’ve been slowly taking off his clothing, until they’re all standing in the front room, Graeme entirely naked, three sets of hands running over his body, as they talk around him. He’s being both cherished and ignored, and a sudden wave of want, a rush of blood straight to his dick, makes him stumble, feeling clumsy.

Alan catches him, lifting him up into his arms. “I think the birthday boy needs to be taken care of.”

“Yes, please,” Graeme whispers, and the men around him chuckle.

It’s such a fucking heady feeling, to be the center of their desire. And the way István and Clark’s fingers tangle together as they all head back to the bedroom. He feels like the luckiest boy in the world.

Alan settles against their headboard, Graeme still in his lap. Clark comes to sit next to them, cross-legged, his bulge obvious. It’s István who settles at the end of the bed, on his knees, eyes only for Graeme.

“Come here, baby boy.” He crooks his finger.

Graeme looks up at Alan, who nods. “Go be a good boy for Isti.”

“Yes, Daddy.” It’s easy to comply, seeing the heat in Alan’s eyes.

He crawls down the bed to where István is still kneeling. István runs his hands through Graeme’s hair, then makes a fist, setting off all kinds of delicious, fiery licks of pain on his head. He moans, looking up at István, the perfect example of submission.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” He smiles a little at Graeme’s whimper and nod. “Want to take care of sir?”

“Yes, yes sir,” Graeme answers desperately. It’s not something they play with as often, Graeme taking care of Alan. Graeme relishes getting to play a different — though still submissive — role.

“Take off my shirt.”

Graeme scrambles to comply, running his fingers to the edge of István’s jersey then working it up over his chest and head. When István comes back into view, he pulls Graeme in for a rough kiss, tugging at his hair again. Graeme feels his nipple rings as their chests press together.

“István’s good at this,” Alan murmurs back at the headboard.

Graeme chances a glance back, and István allows it, loosening his grip. Alan and Clark are sitting against the headboard casually, their cocks in their hands, slowly stroking as they watch the scene unfolding at the end of the bed. They look, for all intents and purposes, like a pair of friends casually remarking on a football game, but for their stiff cocks jutting up.

“You knew he was a switch.”

“Yeah, but he’s been your sub for so long…”

“That’s why we like to do stuff like this. I don’t believe one person can be everything for another person. I’ll never be able to fulfill István’s Dom side, and he shouldn’t have to choose to give that up for the rest of his life.”

István blushes, smiling over Graeme’s shoulder. “Love you, Clark.”

“Love you too, sweetheart. Keep doing your thing.”

István’s smile turns devilish as he looks back at Graeme. “You better get yourself ready, baby boy.” He tosses him some lube.

It’s delightfully humiliating, bending over on the bed, his shoulders on the sheets, twisting around to get his lubed fingers in his ass as the three men watch him. István is quietly encouraging as he reaches down his own pants and strokes himself. He works himself up to two, then three, as they all watch, stroking their cocks and murmuring to each other like he’s a show they’re watching on TV.

“That’s it. So desperate, aren’t you?” István whispers, stroking over Graeme’s back. “What do you want?”

“Nngh—” Graeme moans as he hits his own prostate.

Then, István’s fingers are twisted through his hair again, pulling him off the bed. “What do you want, baby? Have to use your words.”

“Your cock, sir, I want your cock, please—” Graeme breaks, his own fingers in his ass feeling at once amazing and not enough.

“Oh, you’ll get it, but you have to make your Daddy happy first.” István manipulates him up, and Alan takes his arms and pulls him back so he’s straddling Alan’s legs, facing toward István. István watches with pleasure as Alan lifts Graeme’s hips and lets him sink onto his cock. “In fact, you have to make everyone happy before you get to come, okay baby boy?”

Graeme locks eyes with István as he rides Alan. Alan’s cock feels like home inside him, while István’s Dom face is a completely new experience, and Graeme feels like every inch of his skin is tingling. Alan’s hands are rough on his hips, and he can feel the material of Alan’s jeans on the inside of his thighs. He’s still the only one fully naked, and the power imbalance makes him want to come.

He doesn’t, though, his eyes steady on István’s dark ones, lighting his inner strength and will power. Even when Alan’s front plasters over his back and he bites at Graeme’s earlobe, Graeme keeps up his steady pace, shoving all of the fluttering, orgasmic feelings somewhere deeper inside him. He will obey his Daddy, and his sir, and Clark. And that means coming last.

Alan is murmuring in his ear, all about how much he loves him, and cherishes him, and how good of a boy he is. Graeme reaches back, tilting his head to grant Alan access, and leading Alan’s lips to the pale skin above his collar, just waiting to be bruised.

“Come on, Alan, fuck him hard. Get him ready for us.” István’s voice is suddenly nearer, and Alan moans, fucking up into Graeme even harder. “Keep him from coming, Clark.”

Clark’s fingers clamp around the base of his cock, even as Alan’s hips stutters and he feels the warm cum spill inside him. He’s grateful for Clark’s touch — his orgasm is there, whispering on the edge of his senses, building up in his stomach, and he doesn’t want it all to be over. Alan’s panting against his neck, pressing kisses there, and István’s eyes are filled with want, and Graeme has never felt more cherished or so delightfully used.

István helps him pull off of Alan’s spent cock, and allows Graeme to turn and kiss his Daddy once. Then he’s manipulating his body over to Clark’s lap, in a straddle that lines him perfectly up with Clark’s mouth. And so Graeme leans forward, and kisses, his eyes falling shut. He doesn’t even care that István is guiding Clark’s cock up inside his sloppy hole. Clark’s lips are sweet, and so are Alan’s when they join him.

He does care, though, giving a squeak, when István’s fingers start to work their way in beside Clark’s cock. Because oh, they must have been serious about the double penetration talk earlier.

“Color?” István asks, his fingers stilling.

Graeme lets himself try and think through the haze of subspace. “I don’t have to go anywhere tomorrow, do I, Daddy?”

Alan grins, kissing Graeme’s lips again. “We’re free as birds.”

Graeme glances back around, meeting István’s eyes. “Green. Do it.”

István snickers, even as he pours another generous helping of lube and works his fingers in beside Clark’s cock. “You’re going to love it, baby boy. You’ll never feel this full again.”

Things go hazy for Graeme, all slow and syrupy as István stretches him, as Clark and Alan take turns kissing him, then each other.

They snap back into focus the second he feels the head of István’s cock press against his already stretch hole. It helps that István is a bit on the smaller side, but it’s still a tight fit, and he has to breathe through it, and deliberately relax.

Alan wipes his sweaty bangs off his forehead. “Doing such a good job, baby boy. How does it feel?”

“Like—” Graeme gasps, feeling the two cocks slides past each other inside him as István bottoms out. His hand squeezes Graeme’s hip, his chest pushing him down into Clark. “Oh, God—”

“Color?” It’s Alan asking this time.

“Green. Just give me a second. Oh—”

It’s the fullest Graeme has ever felt. His heart is knocking against his chest, and he’s dripping sweat, and his own cock has flagged a little. He rests his forehead against Clark’s and whines.

“Use your words, baby boy,” Clark admonishes, helping Alan in sweeping back his hair.

“Holy shit. Holy shit. I can’t believe— holy shit.”

“I think he’s still processing,” Alan says, his lips tipping up.

“I don’t think we broke you though, did we, baby boy?” István’s words whisper over the skin between his neck and his ear, and he shivers.

“Not broken, just— just, go slow.”

Clark holds steady, but it’s István that listens and starts to move. Slowly, just as asked, it’s still overwhelming, especially when István slides continuously over his prostate. It doesn’t hurt, though. He’s been properly stretched, and there’s enough lube inside him to run an Oil Can Henry’s, it seems like. It’s just, simply — overwhelming.

The pleasure starts to come back, and then it rushes in all at once, his cock hard again and grinding between his and Clark’s stomachs. The three of them move as he sinks into a kiss with Alan, Clark and István working him over in a rhythm that only allows him to cling on for the ride.

When he comes, it’s wrung out of him, and he fights against it because he remembers what István said. István doesn’t seem mad, though, reaching down and stroking him, squeezing the most out of his orgasm as he shudders and shakes. As they kiss over his shoulder, István and Clark set each other off. He’s too out of it to notice who comes first.

There’s a whole lot of movement and cleaning and stripping and settling in under covers after that, mostly stuff Graeme doesn’t have to worry about in his happy, floaty subspace. He’s the pleasant kind of sore that is going to probably require some ibuprofen tomorrow, and he’s completely surrounded by bodies, and he couldn’t be happier or feel safer.

 

He knows István, Clark, and Alan all showered earlier. He heard them as he snoozed on and off, letting his body recover, letting himself be lazy. He’s fully awake, though, and flipping through social media on his phone, when Alan comes in to check on him.

“Hey sweetie.” Once again, Alan’s fully clothed, looking perfectly put together in a set of black lounge pants and a maroon sweater. He sits on the side of the bed and leans over to brush a kiss over Graeme’s lips. “How are we doing this morning?”

Graeme tests his limbs out, finding the aches. “Nothing a long soak in the tub won’t fix.”

Alan’s eyes are warm as they meet his. “I think that’s arrangeable. Clark and István are making waffles.”

“Oh man, is it still my birthday? Am I Groundhog’s Day’ing it? Except instead of a life lesson I just get pampered every day by three beautiful men? Wait, now that I say that aloud, I’m worried I died and this is my personal heaven.” He mocks a frown, and Alan laughs.

“Yesterday was your special day. Today I’m just going back to worshipping the ground you walk on like normal.”

“C’mere, mister.” Graeme pulls him in for a more thorough kiss, then looks intently into Alan’s eyes. “Hey, honey, could you do me a favor? My feet are freezing. Could you get my fuzzy socks?”

“Of course.” Alan gives him another kiss, though, before pushing up and away. He goes to their chest of drawers and opens the sock drawer, quickly finding the fuzzy socks in question. Alan had put them in Graeme’s Christmas stocking.

He frowns at the weight of them, though, and looks up at Graeme. “What do you have in here?”

Graeme grins, sitting up and wincing at the literal pain in his ass but too excited to care. “I don’t have any secrets from you, you know that. Open it up.”

Alan upends the sock over his hand, and a small, hinged box rolls out. He looks back up at Graeme, startled.

“Keep going,” Graeme encourages, hugging his knees.

Alan opens the ring box. Graeme knows he’s seeing a small, black band, very masculine and understated. It has a stripe of white gold through the middle, though.

“Graeme?”

“Will you promise yourself to me, like I have to you?” Graeme thumbs over his white gold collar. “That’s all it is right now. A promise to me, that we’ll marry someday. You can call us fiancés, or boyfriends, whatever. It’s just a symbol that you’re mine. Like I have a symbol I’m yours.”

Alan glances between Graeme, and his collar, and down at the ring. His grin grows, taking over his whole face. “Yes. Absolutely yes. Yours. Forever.” He plucks the ring out of the box and brings it over to Graeme, sitting down again. “Do the honors?”

“With pleasure.” Graeme kisses Alan’s knuckles, then pushes the ring up Alan’s left ring finger. “Perfect.”

“Yeah, it is.” With that blinding grin still on his face, Alan sweeps Graeme into his arms for a longer kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Up next, or at least, in the future, I'm planning on writing about Clark and Istvan. 
> 
> I'm also going to be writing some fanfic soon, probably. I have a hankering to write Baze and Chirrut, my favorite old married couple. 
> 
> So subscribe to me if you want to see any of those things!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated, especially on an original work!
> 
> Please see the tumblr for my original work: https://mhabbott.tumblr.com/  
> Subscribe for news or drop something nice in my inbox. :)


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